


where the light won't find you

by stickmarionette



Series: everybody wants to rule the world [1]
Category: Football RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Friendship, Gen, Intrigue, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Philipp was a very small not-quite-eleven year old, the kind adults awwed at. They cooed even more at his toothy grin and his precocious cleverness.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The Sorting Hat barely had to touch his head before it screamed out SLYTHERIN, which, in retrospect, was a little unfortunate.</i>
</p>
<p>Philipp Lahm, Head Boy and pride of Slytherin House, decides to take an unpopular elective taught by mysterious new professor Josep Guardiola.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the light won't find you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



> With profound apologies to Michael Ballack, who I'm sure is lovely in real life.
> 
> Title from Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears. Dear recipient: I made this for you. I hope you like it.
> 
> I am very grateful to takethistooseriously on tumblr who patiently answered my many questions and told me about Andreas Ottl, aworldinside for heroic emergency beta reading, and as always shihadchick and loyce for putting up with my whining and encouraging me every single day.

 

> Within the team, there should be, of course, an agreement between teammates. But everyone is ambitious. Eleven friends? Let’s be honest: who has ever eleven friends? I mean, that’s right. I don’t. And the fact that in a team, where the competition prevails, there can’t be eleven friends, it lies in the nature of things. - [Philipp Lahm, 2011](https://derkapitan.wordpress.com/2011/08/27/lahms-exclusive-interview-to-merkur/)

 

Philipp was a very small not-quite-eleven year old, the kind adults _aww_ ed at. They cooed even more at his toothy grin and his precocious cleverness.

The Sorting Hat barely had to touch his head before it screamed out _SLYTHERIN_ , which, in retrospect, was a little unfortunate. Half the House immediately looked at him like he was fresh meat, not least the tall, patrician boy who was waiting for him at the foot of the table, Head Boy badge pinned on his lapel.

"Hi, new kid. I'm Ballack."

"Nice to meet you, Ballack. I'm Philipp Lahm," Philipp said evenly.

Of course Ballack knew his name - the whole Hall had just heard it. But Ballack hadn't used it, which Philipp instinctively knew to be both important and kind of bad.

He held out his hand. For a long, long moment, he was sure Ballack wouldn't take it, if only because of how comically surprised he looked. The entire Slytherin table were watching them. He could almost feel their mild interest transmuting into malicious glee.

Ballack barked out a laugh, took his hand - and squeezed so hard Philipp had to bite his lip to keep quiet. "Okay, Lahm. Welcome to Slytherin House."

 

*

 

Philipp was one of the youngest kids in his year, but the kind who had already devoured all his set texts before he ever set foot in the Hogwarts grounds, and found them relatively basic compared to the books he was allowed to read from his parents' extensive library.

All of which meant that when fellow fresh meat Baddock got it into his stupid head to try and score points by pushing Philipp around, he found himself stuck to the cold dungeon wall.

Ballack was hurriedly fetched. He arrived at the scene to find Philipp sitting on the nearest sofa with his nose in _Charms of Defence and Deterrence_ , Baddock still squawking indignantly from the wall.

Philipp marked his place and put his book aside. "Ballack."

"What's this? Why am I being bothered about first years slap-fighting?" Ballack asked the room at large.

There was a significant pause.

"We can't get Baddock off the wall and he _won't shut up_ ," Greengrass said.

Ballack's eyebrows rose and for the first time he seemed to notice Philipp. "You did this?"

"He set fire to my Charms essay," Philipp replied. He mustered some actual offence. It wasn't hard. "It's due tomorrow."

Ballack snorted. "Sounds like Baddock deserved what he got, then. The rest of you - next time just hex the kid silent and carry on with your day. Teach him a lesson."

"No, no, please - I'm sorry! Please let me go! Please - " Baddock snapped his mouth shut like he'd actually been hexed; Ballack's glare was apparently just as effective.

"You wait. Let me get this straight, none of you could undo a curse cast by a first year?" A series of nods. Ballack's eyebrows rose even further. He waved his wand dismissively and Baddock came peeling off the wall with a yelp.

Philipp felt his face warm. He couldn't help but be embarrassed that his best had been so easy for Ballack to undo. Then he actually noticed the speculative look half the room seemed to be giving him, right up to Ballack himself.

"Not bad, Lahm."

Philipp summoned up his most adorable smile. "I'd have let him go if he just asked me."

He wasn't a bully. He just didn't back down to them.

Ballack laughed and clapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. No one else bothered him after that.

 

*

 

Sometimes Sorting revealed things a person didn't know about themselves. Sometimes things they maybe didn't want other people to know about them.

Before Hogwarts, Philipp had never thought of himself as Slytherin material. He still didn't, not if the model Slytherin was Ballack or Malfoy or even Greengrass. Maybe if he had Sorted into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor he'd be surrounded by a clutch of friends at every turn, instead of the mostly solitary life he led. It wasn't so bad, though. The teachers had no issue with him. His grades were exceptional. He was respected both inside his House and outside it, and knew it for the rarity it was.

He didn't need anything else.

 

*

 

In Philipp's third year, a chalk-pale first year with floppy blond hair knocked on the door of his train compartment.

"Hi. Is this - can I - no one else wants to share."

Philipp couldn't blame them. Half the school was scared shitless - the Dark Lord's return, the attack on the Ministry, the state of Diagon Alley, all of it piled up. He'd overheard his parents discuss going back to Germany in hushed voices just before the start of term.

_("Feel like I'm being told to pick a side."_

_"If it's already this bad - "_

_"Maybe we need to get out of here.")_

The kid was staring at him like it was life or death. And maybe to him it seemed like it was.

Contrary to Philipp's first instinct, he nodded.

_("You know," Andreas will say, years later. "I picked that carriage because you looked cute and harmless."_

_Philipp will grin, pleased with himself. "Was I not?"_

_"Cute? Maybe. Harmless? As an acromantula, Philipp.")_

The kid smiled and stuck out his hand. "Thanks. I'm Andreas Ottl. You can call me Andi."

"Philipp Lahm."

"So...is this your first year too?"

Philipp stifled a laugh. "Third, actually."

Andreas' eyes got really wide. "Shit, sorry. I come into your carriage and the first thing I do is insult you. Can we pretend that didn't happen? Do over?"

"Sure."

"Chocolate frog?"

 

*

 

Andreas was a hatstall - a full five minutes - and he ended up in Ravenclaw. Philipp told himself he wasn't disappointed.

He'd wanted -

It didn't matter. He was at Hogwarts to learn and prepare for adult life as a wizard. That was all.

A week into the year, Andreas quietly slid into the seat next to Philipp in his little corner of the library.

"Hey."

"Hi. How'd you find me?"

"I waited in front of your common room until Pritchard came out and asked him where you spent your time."

Philipp felt obliged to look up from _Modern Magical History_ at that. "Why Pritchard?"

"You talk to him at meals. Not always. But more than anybody else."

"That's true. We're not friends, though."

"Didn't say you were," Andreas said with a toothy grin. He opened _Hogwarts: A History_ and began to read.

Every time their elbows bumped that evening, Philipp marvelled at it. Turned out friendship wasn't arcane magic. Sometimes all it took was an outstretched hand.

 

*

 

At the end of that year, his parents pulled him out of Hogwarts and they went back to Germany.

 

*

 

_20 December 1997_

 

_Dear Andi_

 

_I hope this letter finds you well, or as well as you can be under the circumstances._

_I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. Like you said, no news is good news right now. I really hope she's okay. What they're doing is horrible. Muggleborns stealing magic? It's the most ridiculous thing. I can't believe anyone's swallowing it, or even pretending to believe it._

_I overheard my parents talking the other night - even the Ministry here is worried. There've been a few deaths blamed on that lot. Some people are scared. And some people are happy. That's the worst thing, people reading about what's happening there and celebrating it. My parents have had to stop inviting some of their old friends over, especially after mother nearly got into a duel with one guy. Anyway. Long story._

_You're going to make a face at this, but I miss Hogwarts. The place, even the stupid cold dungeons. That's silly, right? It's just a place. It's not even the same as I remember - your last letter made that pretty clear._

_There's nothing worse than petty jerks with power. Okay, lots of things are worse. But nothing's more annoying._

_Father's been helping me keep up my studies. I don't know what I'm going to do if we can't come back next year for OWLs. That's a dumb thing to wonder about with everything else going on. I can't help it, though. It's easier to focus on the things I understand._

_Keep your head down. Be smart. Write back so I know you're okay._

 

_Yours truly,_

_Philipp_

 

 _PS I've enclosed my copy of_ The Dark Arts Outsmarted. _Just in case you need it._

 

*

 

Hogwarts after the war was profoundly changed.

For one, the classes were smaller. A lot of the kids never came back. It was creepily quiet, a lot of the time. Half the place jumped at loud noises. It _felt_ weird, down in Philipp's bones, the same way he knew when the wand movements for a spell weren't quite right.

Most importantly: Andreas had changed, too.

His mother was Muggleborn. She'd had to flee the country, Snatchers on her heels, and hadn't been able to come back until after Philipp's parents got offered their old jobs back at the Ministry.

(Philipp might have gotten his father to pull a few strings to help her resettle. He didn't say anything about it to Andreas.)

Andreas pulled back from their first hug in more than a year beaming. He held on to Philipp's shoulders with a vice-like grip, digging in so hard with his fingers that it hurt. That's when Philipp saw the new scars up his bare arms.

Philipp opened his mouth and closed it again helplessly. Rage had robbed him of words.

"It's okay," Andreas said, following Philipp's gaze. "It's over."

"Why - what - "

"You know how you said 'keep your head down and be smart'? Turns out I'm not good at that." Andreas began to laugh. It sounded like nothing Philipp had ever heard before.

There was an invisible barrier separating Philipp and the other returnees from the kids who had stayed. It fell away as time went on with agonising slowness.

The buildings no longer wore the marks of battle, and the corridors got loud again. House tables became largely a thing of the past - they were encouraged, even forced, to mingle - unless it was a special occasion.

Philipp went back to being a good student and tried his best to be a good friend. He became a Prefect, and then in his last year he was made Head Boy.

"Inevitable," Andreas said, with something like a real grin.

The Headmistress called him _very sensible_ , which he received like the high compliment it clearly was.

"I think we can all agree that you've got a bright future ahead of you," Slughorn said, with a little of his old spark. "Any idea where you're off to?"

Philipp considered his interest a good sign, even if it was presently inconvenient. "I haven't decided yet."

Before the War, he would've had it all planned out. Now, his father got an odd look on his face whenever he brought up maybe looking at Ministry jobs.

The news of Death Eater arrests and trials no longer filled up the front page of the _Prophet_ every day. Instead, there was an ominous silence from the general direction of the Ministry, with the space taken up by increasingly vapid updates on what various heroes of the War were now doing with their lives and the antics of misbehaving Quidditch stars.

It was enough to give Philipp pause, even if he couldn't quite pinpoint the source of his unease.

 

*

 

The Welcoming Feast had gradually gained back some of the spirit of the pre-War years. It was no longer actively uncomfortable to sit through and Andreas even grinned at him as they headed to their separate House tables, because the Sorting was his favourite part.

He'd barely sat down when the great doors banged open. Half the Hall flinched, but there were no invading hordes. It was just a man in an elegant, red-trimmed cloak, leaning on a plain black cane, but with a brisk stride.

"My apologies. The meeting ran late."

His soft voice carried across the Hall. A spell? It felt like one. The man didn't even have his wand out.

"That's Guardiola!" Pritchard hissed. "What's he doing here?"

Pritchard had a parent on the Hogwarts board of governors and another in the Ministry. He was more useful to know than pleasant to be around, and in Slytherin that worked out just fine.

"Should I know that name?"

" _You_ shouldn't," Pritchard said, because he was terrible. "Top secret and all that. He's bad news, though. Is he going to teach? How'd the governors let that happen?"

"What kind of bad news?"

He'd regret giving Pritchard the attention later, but he was curious. No use denying that.

"The dangerous anti-Ministry radical kind," Pritchard whispered with great relish. "They snapped his wand, that's how bad."

The dangerous anti-Ministry radical had very short cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked more like a student than a teacher, all the more so when he smiled up at the head table.

To Philipp's surprise, McGonagall smiled back. It was barely a twitch of her mouth, but it was definitely there.

"Please join me in welcoming Professor Josep Guardiola to Hogwarts. He will be taking over Muggle Studies - " There was a clatter as everyone turned to stare, even a few gasps. McGonagall glared until the Hall fell silent again. " As I was saying. Professor Guardiola will also be pioneering a new Wizarding Law and Government elective."

Guardiola seemed oblivious to the looks being directed at him. "I'm looking forward to it. Thank you for having me." The last directed at the student tables, with his voice filling the Hall.

"Muggle Studies? He's braver than he looks. Won't last the year, I bet." Pritchard snorted, his earlier outrage apparently forgotten. "And that elective sounds terrible. Who signed up for that?"

Philipp had, actually. And now he was kind of looking forward to it.

 

*

 

For a dangerous radical, Guardiola was a surprisingly skinny rake of a man. Quiet, too. Unassuming to a fault. They spent the first fifteen minutes of class talking through boring administrative stuff - textbooks, assessments, course structure - in exhaustive detail, until even Mafalda Prewett, by far the most fastidious notetaker Philipp had ever met, was visibly struggling to pay attention.

Then Guardiola clapped and Philipp's quill flew out of his hand to join everyone else's in a neat pile on his spotless, enormous desk.

He didn't gasp but many of the others did.

Guardiola waved his hand dismissively. "You'll get those back at the end of the class. I just wanted your attention. This works better if you're engaging with me instead of writing. Now. Let's talk why you're here. The governing structure of wizarding Britain is breathtakingly simple. We're not spending a year on that. You'd be bored to tears and so would I. We're going to talk about why things are the way they are. Hopefully that'll be more interesting. Questions?"

As he spoke, Guardiola fixed each of them with his big dark eyes. Intensity radiated from him like heat from a fire, and he suddenly didn't seem so unassuming anymore.

"What about the War?" asked a thin, reedy voice. Philipp resisted turning his head towards the source. He wasn't sure he wanted to see the look on Dennis Creevey's face. "Can we talk about the War?"

There was an ominous silence during which nobody moved. Then Guardiola left his desk and stalked right up to Creevey, and Philipp stopped resisting the urge to stare. Everyone else was doing it too, with held breaths. Unlike Guardiola, a newcomer in their shared misery, they knew that Creevey had barely spoken up in years, even to ask for someone to pass the salt. That Creevey was making eye contact with a teacher and not backing down was a near miracle.

Guardiola held Creevey's gaze for an unnervingly long moment. Then he clapped him on the arm.

"Yes, Mr Creevey. Let's talk about the War. On 1 August 1997 the Ministry fell under the control of the Dark Lord. In one day we went from having a government answerable to us, at least in theory, to one that ruled us by fear. What's the most notable thing about what I just said?"  

"It was easy. "

Philipp hadn't decided to speak. The words just came out of his mouth.

Guardiola nodded. "That's right. It was very easy. Why is that?"

"It was already infiltrated. A lot of the higher ups were under Imperius," Prewcett said with her usual impatient air of one stating the screamingly obvious.

"And?"

"Um - "

"A lot of people in the Ministry supported the Dark Lord," Creevey said, in the same small voice he'd used earlier. Philipp wasn't the only one who winced. In a different setting someone might've challenged him to a duel for that.

Guardiola just nodded. "That's another contributing factor. What's the cause? What made the Ministry capable of transforming almost overnight?" He looked at Creevey expectantly, and Creevey looked like he wanted to shrink into the floor.

"There was nothing stopping them," Philipp said haltingly, and Guardiola's face lit up like he'd just been offered the earth.

"Go on."

Philipp's pulse quickened like he was about to run a race. He cleared his throat to make his voice come out. "It was the other way around, wasn't it? The way things work at the Ministry made it easy for the Death Eater to come in and use the system to hurt people. Everything was all set up for it already."

It felt like Guardiola was boring into his head, in a curious, almost friendly way. Philipp's back tensed under it; he straightened in his chair without ever meaning to.

"An interesting point well made, Mr Lahm. And one I hope you all keep in mind as we study the structure of the Ministry in the coming weeks."

The rest of class flew by.

"Thank you for your attention," Guardiola said at the end. He looked like he meant it, too. "Please come get your quills before you leave. I don't actually want to keep them. For next week come prepared to discuss the Statute of Secrecy and its effects on Wizarding Europe. I don't need an essay but do your research. Don't bother turning up without it. Okay, dismissed."

Philipp debated leaving it alone. But no, he had a certain responsibility, as Head Boy if nothing else. He stayed seated as the rest of the class filed out and wandered up to Guardiola's desk after Prewcett closed the door behind her.

"Thank you."

Guardiola paused in tidying his desk to fix him with a curious look. No hint of impatience, just expectation, which was somehow more daunting. "What for?"

"Being responsive to Creevey. There was no way for you to know but you handled it."

"Thank *you* for finding such a diplomatic way of warning the newbie." Guardiola's grin was very toothy. It made him seem like a boy. "I owe you one."

"I didn't say anything," Philipp said, taken aback.

"You just did."

Frank, not glib. Still not really an answer, though.

"How did you know at the time?"

"I read the room. Not hard with teenagers. You wear every thought on your sleeve." Guardiola paused and cocked his head at Philipp. "Most of you, anyway. Who should I be speaking to if I want to understand what's bothering Mr Creevey? I'd rather not disturb the Headmistress."

Philipp mentally paged through the possibilities. "He's a Gryffindor. Normally his head of House, but she's new too. You're better off with Natalie McDonald in his year."

"Thank you. Unlike seemingly everyone else on staff, I'm not alumni, so this is all new to me."

"Beauxbatons?" Philipp hazarded.

A wistful smile crept onto Guardiola's face. "No. I went to a very small school which doesn't exist anymore."

"What happened?"

"We ran into trouble with the Ministry. The Headmaster had ideas that were seen as - eccentric."

Philipp couldn't help but snort. "Compared to Hogwarts?"

"I know that might seem hard to believe, but it's true," Guardiola said, almost deadpan. Philipp caught himself grinning, which was - pretty weird. He had reasonably good relationships with all his teachers, made easier because he applied himself, but it was all very arm's length. He was too blunt and asked far too many difficult questions for any other alternative.

_("They love you. They'd love you even more if you had less spikes than a Knarl," as Andreas liked to say._

_"Knarls are pretty cute."_

_"They also think anybody offering them food is trying to trap them." Andreas looked at Philipp as if this was somehow significant._

_"Cute_ and _smart," Philipp said, blithely ignoring Andreas' sigh of despair.)_

And there he was, about to ask another blunt and impolitic question.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What made you want to come here? You must've heard the, ah, rumours about the Muggle Studies position."

"Not rumours," Guardiola said sharply, almost before he finished talking. "I correspond with the last two professors chased out of that job. They both got death threats, cursed junk in the mail. All that's true."

Philipp had suspected - he'd even seen the anonymous Howlers during meal times in the Hall - but it was still something to hear it. And before that, everyone knew what had happened to Charity Burbage.

"Right, so why do it?"

"I enjoy teaching."  

Which was a meaningless non-answer. "Enough for death threats?"

Guardiola smiled. "You're very bright, aren't you." He somehow made it sound like a compliment and an insult at the same time.

"Thank you," Philipp said evenly. "Bright enough for an answer, I hope."

"Only if you say what you mean."

"There are other rumours too. Rumours about you."

The perpetually exasperated voice of reason in his head pointed out that he'd left "blunt" behind for "inappropriate" sometime ago, but Guardiola didn't seem irritated in the least. Quite the contrary.

"I thought there might be. I'm flattered. Just how terrible am I supposed to be?"

"Pretty terrible," Philipp said, matching his light tone. He tried not to think about the kind of crime that got a wizard's wand snapped.

"Right. So the real question isn't why I took this job, is it. You knew the answer to that question. Unless you meant a different question."

It felt like a trap. Against his own better instincts, Philipp picked up the thread. "Why did the school hire you?"

Guardiola nodded sharply like he'd passed a test. "Better. You understand that Hogwarts itself - the castle, the grounds - is animated by magic?"

The way he put it made it sound like - "You mean it's alive."

"Not quite. But close enough. The magic involved is ancient. All but lost. And then there was the battle. So many people died here." Guardiola looked briefly haunted, as if he could see blood on the castle stones. He shook it off fast, but not before Philipp caught it and knew it for what it was. "You'd know better than me, of course."

The 'of course' rankled. "No."

"No?"

"I wasn't here," Philipp said, very quietly.

_I wasn't here and sometimes when someone who was here looks at me I can see them thinking it._

Guardiola nodded. All the sharpness had gone out of his eyes, replaced by empathy. His voice was soft too, shorn of edges. "Ah. You're a returning exile like me."

There was no rational reason why that should've made Philipp feel better. But it did.

"Why'd you leave?"

"Because the alternative was Azkaban." He said it like it was nothing, the score of a mid-table Quidditch game, an ingredient in a potions recipe. Even Philipp, who had the good fortune to just miss Dementors at Hogwarts, felt a chill.

"What did you do?"

Guardiola shrugged. "Nothing much. I was honest."

"Honest about wanting to subvert the government?" Philipp said, and immediately wanted to bite his tongue.

"Something like that. It's kind of embarrassing. Best not to talk about it," Guardiola said airily. "My fault for bringing up the War. You know, you're actually best placed to understand what I mean. You knew the Castle before it took the damage. Can you feel the difference?"

Philipp immediately thought of those early days after he came back when everything seemed off, down in his bones. "I think so. It's frail in places."

"The wards took a lot of damage. It's a tough repair job and I happen to be an expert. I have some rare books on the subject you can borrow, if you like."

Guardiola wasn't to know it, but he'd just said the magic word. Words.

"Yes, please."

"After dinner, next Friday? My office is opposite Professor Slughorn's. I'm sure you know where that is."

"I do. Thank you."

Philipp left class humming. He didn't even realise he was doing it until two first year Slytherins stared at him like he was a Polyjuiced impersonator.

He stared back and smiled until they dropped their eyes and fled.

 

*

 

"How was class with the new guy?" Andreas asked at dinner.

Philipp considered. "Interesting."

"Crazy interesting or good interesting?"

"I don't know. There's just something about him."

"Soulful brown eyes? I know that's what Orla got out of it."

He waited until Philipp was drinking to say it, the bastard, and grinned through the subsequent coughing. Philipp took another, more sedate sip. "Good for Orla."

"You like him," Andreas said, delighted.

"I don't know. What does that even mean?"

Andreas rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Did you or did you not stay after class?"

"Who told you?"

"Prewcett. She was waiting for you to leave to bug the guy herself."

Philipp bit back a comment about Andreas employing half of his House to spy on him.

_("It's not like you tell me about your day," Andreas had said._

_"I do! All the time."_

_"'I went to class. It was fine. There were loud kids in the library. I gave them my scary smile until they shut up.' See? You don't say anything."_

_Andreas' Philipp impression needed a lot of work.)_

"Pritchard made me curious, that's all."

"So?"

"He did something terrible before the War that almost got him sent to Azkaban."

Pritchard said they snapped his wand and I think he wasn't bullshitting, he didn't say.

Andreas dropped his fork with a loud clatter. He'd gone a little pale.

"What kind of something?"

"I don't know yet. Pretty sure he's not a Death Eater, though," Philipp added hastily.

"You think they'd get better at screening for that," Andreas said with a shadow of a grin. He picked up his fork again.

 

*

 

On the day he had his appointment with Guardiola, Philipp ate dinner fast. He still had to find Guardiola's office, and he hated to keep anyone waiting.

Getting to Slughorn's office on the sixth floor was easy enough. The Castle had always been kind to Philipp when he needed to get somewhere. He'd taken the convenience for granted until Guardiola had spoken of it like a living creature, and now he wondered.

There hadn't been another office in the sixth floor corridor the last time he checked. But sure enough, there was a new, nondescript door opposite Slughorn's. It looked like it had been there always, with the appropriate degree of wear and tear in the wood, and the brass faded on door knocker.

Slughorn's voice sounded behind him as he raised a hand to knock. "Philipp, my boy! What are you doing here?"

"I have a few questions for Professor Guardiola. He said this was the place?"

"He's not a noisy neighbour, I'll give him that," Slughorn grinned. "Barely notice he's around half the time. Good taste in mead, too. Just..."

"Professor?"

"I have a good eye, Philipp. You've got a lot of potential. A lot. Best be careful who you're seen associating with. Not that - Guardiola's a fine man, there's no question about that. Unfairly maligned, I'd say, but that's the way it is these days." Slughorn paused and heaved a great sigh. Philipp smelled alcohol on his breath. The rambling had become a common feature of the man after the War, and the drink seemed only to have added to it. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, Professor."

He raised his hand to the knocker and the door slid open, just an inch. It opened soundlessly at the lightest push to a small entrance hall with hangers covered in expensive-looking cloaks. The door at the other end was only half-closed. Through it Philipp could see a fireplace, currently occupied by a familiar-looking head.

"It's getting worse, not better," said the man in the fireplace.

"I thought as much."

The face in the fireplace took on a severe cast, and Philipp immediately placed the man as Xavi Hernandez, a bookish Ravenclaw who had apparently racked up a terrifying kill count in the Battle of Hogwarts. After graduation, he'd somehow landed at the Department of Mysteries, and that was the last anyone had heard of him.

"A move's going to be made against Shacklebolt sooner or later. Might not even be Rosier. The more reforms Shacklebolt proposes, the more enemies he's got. We can't even keep track."

"Don't get distracted. Rosier's still the main problem."

"Yeah. Nothing's going to change while he's in the picture. Not even Potter and Granger can get any traction for reform. They just don't know the place like he does."

"Then you know what we have to do."

Hernandez's head swiveled around. "Pep, you need to go."

_Oh, shit._

Philipp bit his lip against whatever noise was going to come out and knocked. There was a long pause.

"Come in."

To hell with it.

"Sorry to interrupt, Professor."

The fireplace was empty. It was like he'd dreamed it up.

"Not at all," Guardiola said mildly. "Sit down. You wanted to talk about Hogwarts?"

Philipp scrambled to remember all his questions. It was difficult to gather his thoughts; he couldn't stop replaying Guardiola saying _you know what we have to do_.

He had a decision to make - that much was clear. He'd know the stakes even without Slughorn's vague warning. None of that made it easier.

 

*

 

Andreas kept looking at him weird all through breakfast the next day.

"What?"

"You're playing with your food. Which is disgusting, by the way, thanks for ruining my appetite."

"Nothing's capable of doing that," Philipp said absently, with a tenth of his usual snap. The food was great, as usual. He just didn't feel like eating.

Andreas grabbed his arm. "Hey. Seriously. What's wrong?"

Philipp gave up pretending to eat. He wanted to put his head in his hands and maybe mutter to himself for a while, but half the table would notice and then he'd have a real problem.

"I...have to make a decision on something." His voice came out very small.

In the silence that followed, he could see Andreas staring at him out of the corner of his eye. "You in over your head?"

"Maybe."

"Figure it out, then," Andreas said, like it was that easy.  

Philipp whipped his head up. "What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"Stalling, by the looks of it. The answer's not in your scrambled eggs. Hit the library."

"Typical Ravenclaw," Philipp snorted.

"Hey, we're not supposed to talk like that any more. I'm gonna tell the Head Boy."

 

*

 

Despite his inappropriate House-based sniping, Philipp did hit the library. He found the answer in an old copy of the _Prophet_ from before the War.

_It is now clear that last week's mass resignations from the Investigation Department of the Auror Office are the latest moves in a programme to root out a subversive conspiracy to overthrow the Ministry._

_The promising Ministry career of rising star Josep Guardiola, deputy head of the Investigation Department, was one of those which came to an abrupt and inexplicable end. The Prophet can now exclusively reveal that Guardiola was tried and convicted in a secret hearing before a special session of the Council of Magical Law._

_It is believed that his participation in this conspiracy dates back to his schooling in the mysterious Academy of Magi, which was raided by the Magical Law Enforcement Squad last week._

_The Academy is infamous for the arcane beliefs of its Principal Johan Cruyff and its eccentric teaching methods. It was forced to relocate to the UK during Grindelwald's Uprising..._

There was more in that vein. The Prophet evidently had a lot of anonymous sources with opinions on the affairs of the Ministry, interspersed with little nuggets of blood prejudice and commentary on the bizarre goings-on at that school.

(Guardiola had acquired a lot of strange ideas about government and law from his Muggle parents, they said.

The Academy all but snatched babies from their parents and reared them to do magic from the cradle, they also said. The fact that those two things didn't go together was not mentioned.)

 

*

 

Andreas found him in his usual corner of the library, still pouring over old Prophets.

"Figured out what Guardiola's up to yet?" Philipp could almost hear the accompanying eyeroll.

"What? I took your advice."

And now his head was spinning even more. It was better to know - Philipp believed that no matter what the circumstances - but he was no closer to knowing what to do with that information.

"It was good advice. Now you have background knowledge. Or I hope you do, after all that." Andreas waved a hand, encompassing the mess.

"Kind of. But this stuff is so unreliable and biased. I've just ended up with more questions."

"Philipp." Andreas tapped him on the head with the nearest roll of parchment. "Don't scoff at this, but have you tried just asking him?"

The idea was fundamentally absurd, and yet.

"I'll think about it."

Philipp had another standing appointment with Guardiola whenever he wanted more books. He'd finished up the previous one laden down with dusty old volumes on protective enchantments and ancient magic, badly translated from Catalan and Dutch and Italian. The topic was genuinely interesting, but not as interesting as conspiracies against the Ministry.

 

*

 

A few week later, he ran into McGonagall on the way to dinner. Her stern face softened at the sight of him, which was, he felt, quite an achievement for a Slytherin, even in this supposed new era without petty House rivalries.

"Ah, Mr Lahm. Have you got a minute?"

"Sure."

"Please go down to the Lake and tell Professor Guardiola I'd like a word with him in my office."

It was one of those gloomy, windy days that made a person forget what the sun even felt like. Perfect for a long walk. Philipp fetched his cloak and got on with it.

The solitary figure of Guardiola was easy to spot, sitting on a plaid blanket on the shores of the Lake with his head down, scribbling, the cane ever present beside him. He was wearing a red cloak that made him look like a slightly mad wizarding scholar from one of the paintings hanging on the walls of the Castle, the kind that sometimes shouted at passers-by.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

Guardiola shook his head as if coming out of a trance. He found a smile for Philipp. "Ah, Mr Lahm. What brings you out here?"

"Professor McGonagall asked me to come and get you. She wants to see you in her office."

"Ah. Thank you. I'll go straightway," Guardiola said. He was already standing, dusting himself off and packing his supplies into a leather bag. "Walk with me."

For something phrased like an order, he made it sound awfully like a request. Philipp nodded and fell into step beside him.

Guardiola was obviously used to walking with shorter people and slowing his stride to accommodate Philipp, which was an immediate point in his favour. Not that Philipp was keeping count.

"Have you seen the squid in this lake? It's amazing."

Philipp glanced at his face to check. Nope, wasn't a joke. "It's waved at me a couple of times. I"ve never really thought about it much, to be honest."

"It waved at you? Wow." Guardiola grinned. "You know, I think it must be powerfully magical."

Still not a joke. Maybe. "The  _squid_?"

"Sure. Where do you think magic comes from?"

Philipp blinked at him. "Big question."

"Yes. And?" The patient, expectant look Guardiola gave him made Philipp want to stand up straighter. And give a good answer to the damn question, instead of a glib one.

"From us, some say. But...that can't be true. All sorts of creatures have magic. Hogwarts has magic."

Guardiola gave a tiny nod. Approval, all the same. He'd take it. "Some people say that all came from the Founders."

"Some people think Muggleborns stole magic," Philipp countered.

The words hung in the air between them. Just when Philipp was beginning to think better of it, Guardiola turned his gaze from the path back to Philipp.

"I'm glad you don't."

"Of course not."

"You know why that idea was so attractive to so many people?"

"Because those people want a reason to be jerks," Philipp said venomously, thinking of Andreas' mother.

Guardiola barked a harsh laugh. "They don't need a reason. They need to explain away their own decline."

He could just ask. It was a perfect opening.

"I'm not seeing much decline."

Guardiola cast his eyes back to the path. "Trust me, it's coming," he eventually said, in a low murmur.

A roll of parchment chose that moment to fly free of Guardiola's bag. Philipp instinctively drew his wand. "Accio!"

The roll was in his hand before he could second guess the whole thing. What was the polite thing to do in front of someone who was probably severely restricted in their use of magic?

Guardiola saved him from his own thoughts by taking the roll off him. "Ah, thank you. I don't do much magic these days. They snapped my wand, as I'm sure you know."

"Uh huh. What's that?" Philipp gestured at the ever-present cane.

"Oh, this?" Guardiola tapped it against the ground. It made an odd, ringing sound. "I have a bad knee."

"The hell you do," Philipp said, laughing.

Guardiola's lips twitched; then he was laughing too, doubling over with it. "I do! Even Madam Pomfrey can't fix it."

The man laughing so hard he genuinely needed the cane to stay upright didn't seem like a dangerous mystery. This version seemed approachable, startlingly young. Kind of familiar. Philipp didn't want to have to ruin his new life.

Damn it, Andreas was right.

A blur coming up the path saved Philipp from having to make a decision right there. "Someone's coming."

Guardiola's face shut down with startling speed, like a candle being snuffed out.

"Professor! Professor!"

The blur resolved itself into Andres Iniesta, one of the Gryffindor prefects. Nice enough guy. Quiet. Astonishing Quidditch player. And there ended what Philipp knew about him.

Guardiola obviously knew him well, though. When he spoke, it was in a warm tone Philipp had never heard before. "What is it, Andres?"

Iniesta skidded to a stop and seemed to notice Philipp for the first time. "Oh. Hi, Lahm."

"Iniesta," Philipp said, inclining his head. Which was usually the beginning and end of their hallway interactions.

"Uh. Funny seeing you here," Iniesta muttered. He tried a smile; it was almost a grimace.

Guardiola took hold of his shoulder and squeezed. "What's the matter?"

Iniesta was pretty quick, Philipp gave him that much. "Um. Professor Slughorn wants to see you. It's about Pritchard."

"What about him?" Philipp asked.

Iniesta broke into a real grin. "Pritchard was being a jerk to Creevey and the Professor tore him a new one. It was amazing."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Philipp said. He meant it, too.

"You should've seen his face," Iniesta said, still in his quiet voice, but Philipp heard and recognised the edge in it for the first time. It was startling. Maybe he needed to re-evaluate his interactions with this guy.

Guardiola shook his head. "There were too many witnesses as it is. I overstepped. Slughorn's right to be annoyed."

"I hope you don't get in trouble. He deserved it."

Iniesta said this with great vehemence (for him) and punctuated it with a tug at the sleeve of Guardiola's cloak. Philipp kept himself from reacting visibly with great effort.

The corners of Guardiola's mouth twitched. "Noted. Please tell Professor Slughorn that I'll see him this evening."

Philipp was pretty good at reading people. He thought that Iniesta was probably telling the truth about Slughorn. But he'd also been lying.

Wasn't that a scary thought.

 

*

 

Kalle, who was old and grumpy, dropped the next day's Prophet directly onto Philipp's scrambled eggs.

"Hey! Stop that, you old bat. I swear I'm going to replace you."

"You always say that and never follow through," Andreas said mildly. "You're not going to eat that, are you? Prophet-flavoured egg sounds disgusting."

Philipp was opening his mouth to agree when the front page headline caught his eye.

 

_SCANDAL AT THE MINISTRY_

_ROSIER RESIGNS AMIDST DEATH EATER ALLEGATIONS_

 

It was warm in the Hall, but an odd chill shivered through him.

Andreas' warm hand was suddenly covering his own. "You okay?"

"I - " Philipp swallowed. "No. This is big, Andi. Too big for me."

"Nonsense. It's not a matter of big or small. Everyone ends up having to make these calls at some point. And then we just have to live with it."

Andreas didn't look down at his scars. He held Philipp's hand very tight, to the point of pain. Philipp squeezed back. He wanted - needed - a bit of that courage to rub off on him.

 

*

 

Guardiola's chair was empty at dinner.

"Maybe they've fired him," Pritchard said gleefully.

Philipp had been just about to move to get away from having to eat while sitting through his nonsense. He sat down instead.

"What makes you say that?"

"I told you, he's a criminal. My mother says Magical Law Enforcement are on it. They've already started arresting his old buddies. Just because Shacklebolt's in charge, they thinks they can all just waltz back into the country like that. I don't think so."

"You're just bitter he destroyed you for being mean to Creevey," Andreas said in his most annoying voice, because he was brilliant and really should've Sorted into Slytherin. "Yeah, Orla told me all about it. The whole school's gonna know."

Pritchard snarled. "He's gonna regret it. The governors aren't happy with McGonagall for hiring someone who should be going nuts in Azkaban. They're gonna come for him."

"There's no Azkaban anymore, idiot."

"Yet another thing going wrong with this rotten country."

If the phrase didn't come straight from his awful parents, Philipp would eat his hat.

"You're full of shit," Andreas said succinctly.

"I'm not. You watch. Zubizarreta got arrested today. Guardiola's next."

Zubizarreta was a name that had come up often in the pile of old Prophets. Philipp stopped himself from looking at the head table for the rest of dinner, but it was an effort.

 

*

 

He was going to have to ask, especially if he wanted to warn Guardiola about the investigation. Pritchard might've been terrible, but he wasn't in the habit of making stuff up. There was nothing else for it.

Guardiola answered the door that evening looking perfectly normal, curious and full of ideas and happy to see Philipp, and Philipp felt something inside him loosen at the sight. It still took him a full cup of Chrysanthemum tea to work up to it and only then because Guardiola noticed his distraction.

"Something on your mind?"

Philipp set his cup down. Dragged his eyes up. "I - yes. I want to ask you about the Academy."

No pause, not even a flicker in Guardiola's expression, but Philipp could almost sense the formidable mind behind those intense eyes whirling away. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Is Zubizarreta a friend of yours?"

"You're well informed."

"I try to be."

Guardiola sighed like he had the world on his shoulders. "Yes, Zubi is a friend. But he's not involved in the Academy's work any more. He's done nothing to warrant being publicly humiliated like this."

That was a good start. Right.

"Professor, I - "

The outer door banged open, far too loud. Deliberately loud.

"Professor Guardiola?"

That was the Headmistress, in a barely suppressed rage if Philipp was any judge, raising her voice above at least two others.

"Please, come right in," Guardiola said wryly.

Philipp stood up with little idea of what he was going to do next. He almost jumped at Guardiola's hand on his shoulder. "Don't. Let me handle this."

It was the Headmistress, flanked by two men and looking as irritated as he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry, Pep, but these men insisted they had to speak to you right away."

Guardiola nodded. "Mr Pritchard the elder, I assume. And - this is?"

"Rowle. Magical Law Enforcement," said the more grizzled of the two. "We're here to make your life easier, Professor."

Guardiola smiled. It was nothing like how he smiled at Philipp or Iniesta or McGonagall. This smile had knives in it. "Oh? I'm listening."

"Allegations have been made against you in relation to a conspiracy to subvert the government of Wizarding Britain."

Philipp kept his expression from changing with an effort.

"That's not very specific," Guardiola said mildly.

"How's this for specific? Did you or did you not meet with a member of the Academy of Magi the night of 14 September? Friday, if that helps."

"I did not," Guardiola said.

"Where were you?"

"Here. Which is exactly where I was supposed to be, I think you'll agree."

He was telling the truth, Philipp realised. They were talking about the first night he set foot in this office. The night he overheard Guardiola talking to Xavi Hernandez, Unspeakable, about the problem with Rosier.

And that meant -

Philipp cleared his throat.

"We'll see about that," Pritchard said. He had the exact same ugly sneer as his son.

Philipp's mouth chose that moment to move without permission from the rest of him. "Excuse me."

McGonagall seemed to notice him for the first time. "Mr Lahm, you can go."

"No, wait. I was here," Philipp said. Louder, and with ever-growing certainty.

"What?"

They could snap your wand for this, a voice inside Philipp said. Do you want to have your promising future ruined? Look at the object lesson right there in front of you. No one will care that you weren't actually involved. If you tell this lie -

He told the voice to shut up. Took a deep breath and screwed up his courage. Let it out.

"I was here that night. I came here straight after dinner. Professor Guardiola and I talked for hours. You can ask Professor Slughorn, too - he saw me here."

"That's very helpful, Mr Lahm, thank you. We will do just that," McGonagall said firmly. "Gentlemen?"

Pritchard and Rowle ignored her in favour of staring Philipp down, which was so stupid he had to work hard to hold in a laugh. McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Gentlemen. We're leaving."

The frost in her voice chilled even Philipp. They left.

Philipp didn't relax until he heard the front door slam. Then he just stood there, trying not to shiver.

A fresh cup of tea was pressed to his numb hands. He made his cold fingers curl around the cup and looked up to say thank you, and the look on Guardiola's face stopped him cold. There was far too much in those eyes, more than anybody should be able to feel at once, let alone express. He didn't know what to do with it.

"Drink your tea," Guardiola said quietly. He steered Philipp to one of the leather couches and sat down beside him. "Then we'll talk."

Philipp drank in silence.

"You owe me answers," he said, at the bottom of the cup.

"I believe I owe you more than that."

"You used me as - as an alibi."

"Yes."

Philipp sighed. "Just tell me there's no actual conspiracy."

Guardiola cradled Philipp's face with both hands. "I wouldn't insult you like that. Not after the choice you just made."

"What would you have done if I told them about Hernandez? And Iniesta, he's in on it somehow, isn't he."

It came out flat, almost threatening, but Guardiola only smiled wider, the look in his eyes unbearably fond. Philipp could feel himself flushing.

"You know the answer to that question."

"I do?"

"Yes. The truth is, you remind me uncomfortably of myself. That's why I had to be cautious, because I'd think about turning me in," Guardiola said. His long fingers were curved around the back of Philipp's neck, fingertips pressing in; their warmth chased way the last of Philipp's chills.

The chills were easier to deal with. This was  - nice? Terrible? Both. He didn't know what to do with it, other than retreat.

"I didn't, you'll notice."

"Not because you trust me."

"I don't trust very easily," Philipp said. If only Andreas could hear him say that. He'd never hear the end of it.

"One of the many reasons I admire you, Philipp."

"Please don't insult my intelligence."

"I wouldn't dare," Guardiola said. Very neutral, slightest hint of a grin.

"So give me reasons to trust you."

A faint line appeared between Guardiola's eyebrows. For the first time that night, he seemed taken aback. He took his hands away only to put them back on Philipp's shoulders. Just resting there, not pressing down.

"Here's one: why do you think you overheard me and Xavi?"

"I - oh."

Of course. Obvious.

Guardiola smiled. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so oblique about it. Do you want to hear what we're trying to do? I believe in convincing people to my side through argument, instead of imposing ideas on people. If my ideas don't convince you, you should walk away."

He was really incredibly transparent. Had been, really, since the moment they met. His entire heart was always in those dark eyes. Philipp just hadn't known it until now.

"A little late for that. I'm with you."  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I no longer have to attempt to remain anonymous, here are my customary end notes:
> 
>   1. All the names are real names of people at Hogwarts in the right years during the time frame covered by this story (mostly the 00-01 school year). (Look up Mafalda Prewett - what an amazing idea for a character.) I also worked out all the ages of the footballers involved so they'd be in the right year relative to the events covered in the Harry Potter series and relative to each other. I am a huge nerd.
>   2. This entire story is built around that famous "11 friends" quote. I was also very tickled by the way he talked about Guardiola [in this interview](https://global.handelsblatt.com/edition/390/ressort/european-lifestyles/article/on-the-defensive-2).
>   3. What first drew me to Philipp was [his power struggle with Michael Ballack for the Germany captaincy](https://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/jul/12/germany-philipp-lahm-final-argentina-world-cup-2014).
>   4. [Andreas Ottl is Philipp's best friend in football.](http://www.tz.de/sport/fc-bayern/ottl-ueber-lahms-liebe-gesucht-gefunden-839872.html) And you know it's a big goddamn deal when Philipp calls someone his friend.
>   5. Once I worked out the time frame this story had to be set in, I immediately started wondering what Hogwarts and by extension the wizarding world in general would be like immediately post-war. This story kind of morphed into being about that during the writing of it.
>   6. What we know about the post-War Ministry from canon and surrounding materials: Shacklebolt became acting Minister. It was eventually made official. Reforms were instituted with the help of Harry and Hermione (including the closing of Azkaban). Shit became slightly less unfair. But have you ever looked into the wizarding legal system? It's fucked up. And how easy would it have been reforming an institution shot through with incompetence, corruption and prejudiced old dudes? Wouldn't there be a lot of resistance?
>   7. Guardiola is about 29 years old in this story. When Pep was actually that age, he was busy being all but chased out of Barca by the clowns running it. I liked the parallel.
>   8. Remember what happened to the [lone named Muggle Studies teacher](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Charity_Burbage) in the HP series? If you weren't teaching the kids horrible prejudiced shit you'd probably get hate mail from parents who were prejudiced. Hate mail and worse, especially after the War when they no longer had a publicly acceptable outlet for their views.
>   9. I still can't believe JKR killed Colin Creevey. That was goddamn harsh, lady.
>   10. The Academy: imagine La Masia as a wizarding school.
>   11. [These are Knarls.](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Knarl) See? Cute.
>   12. Philipp's bluntness was inspired by [the shitstorm surrounding his book](http://www.si.com/more-sports/2011/08/26/jurgen-klinsmanncrticism).
>   13. Equally, Pep Guardiola is not known for censoring his own political views. He has a long history of activism in relation to Catalan language, culture and autonomy, and [has faced no end of backlash over it](http://stickmarionette.tumblr.com/post/128762966579/pep-guardiola-v-spains-minister-of-the-interior).
>   14. I like the idea that Hogwarts might attempt to de-escalate House rivalries a little after the war, encourage kids to mix a bit. There's no real canonical basis for this.
>   15. Picture Pep hiding his illegal wand in an understated yet fancy cane and forgetting to fake a limp while carrying it around everywhere. I did, and immediately fell in love with the idea.
>   16. Philipp's grumpy old owl [Kalle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl-Heinz_Rummenigge).
>   17. Andoni Zubizarreta, legendary goalkeeper and good friend of Pep Guardiola, became Barca's sporting director for the last 2 years of Pep's time as manager and was eventually fired in murky circumstances in 2015.
> 

>
>> After training on May 1st, Guardiola and Lahm stayed for a while at Site 2. The talk between coach and captain lasted one hour, the longest of the season. Pep apologised to Lahm for his mistakes and explained that giving up his initial idea to play with three centre backs was the cause for the loss [against Real Madrid]. He talked about his feelings and his conviction that the necessary next step is to develop further this idea with which they began the season. Lahm said little. He mainly listened. Then he reassured the coach of his support.
>> 
>> _"We are with you, Pep. In life and death."_
>> 
>> \- Excerpt from Herr Guardiola/Pep Confidential by Martí Peranau
> 
> And in conclusion, look at this picture. I blame the existence of this thing on this picture:
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
